Meet the Parents
by Nehszriah
Summary: The Doctor gets his days mixed up with some disastrous results. [fluff]


A/N: The following was originally posted in two different prompts over on my writing tumblr (nehswritesstuffs). I originally wasn't going to post it over here, let alone like this, but I think that in light of recent events, we need to spread the fluff as far as we can reach.

* * *

Meet the Parents

The Doctor exited the TARDIS, finding that he had parked a couple inches off from where he had intended, making it so that the Chameleon-Circuited ship was partially integrated in the wall. Putting on his sonic sunglasses, he scanned the affected area—only insulation was really at-risk, and considering there was so little of it in Clara's flat, it seemed to him that the damage was nominal.

"Clara? I seem to have parked the TARDIS in your bedroom wall. Not to worry though," he announced, raising his voice. He walked out into the rest of the flat and froze upon reaching the sitting room.

There, staring at him, were Clara's dad, stepmum, and gran. The worst of all was Clara herself, standing with a kettle in her hand, her eyes inflating to the largest he'd seen them get in a long time.

"Umm… would you please excuse us for a minute?" Clara asked politely. She placed the teapot down on the tray, told her family to help themselves, and forcibly shoved the Doctor in the only room in the flat with a lock: the bathroom. " _What are you_ _ **doing here**_ _?!_ "

"It's Wednesday, so I thought I'd pop by," he defended, motioning towards the door. "Come on, you didn't forget _Wednesdays_ , did you?"

"It's _Thursday_ , you idiot, and everyone's over for Gran's birthday!" she hissed.

"What are they all doing _here_ if it's her birthday? Doesn't she have her own flat?"

"Yeah, but when Gran asks to come over for her birthday, you don't just tell her to bugger off, now do you?" She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, counting backwards from ten. "Alright, now we're going to get through this… we are… Doctor? What are you doing?" She opened up her eyes to find the alien hunched over his flashcards, flipping through them with a purpose.

"I think there's something in here for this," he said.

"No; there's no flashcard for this. Listen, okay, we're going to go out there, introduce you as John Smith, and you are going to behave."

"I thought I was John Smith last time…"

"Clara? Are you alright?" her father asked, worry evident in his voice.

"Coming!" she replied sweetly. She then narrowed her eyes and focused back on the Doctor. "I said you were Swedish and that was just the name you went by here, since your Swedish name was virtually unpronounceable—lots of dots and circles and slashes where they shouldn't be—so now you are a _real_ John Smith from… I don't know… what's a neighborhood in Glasgow?"

"Springburn?"

"Yeah, go with that. Just remember: one toe out of line and I'll… I don't know, but you won't like it." She then opened the bathroom door and took him by the hand, leading him back into the sitting room.

"So Clara, who is this?" her stepmum wondered, inspecting the Doctor. His hair was wildly unkempt and he had been wearing the same plaid trousers, grungy t-shirt, and hoodie for four days straight.

"This is Joh—"

"Bob Dylan," the Doctor said, letting go of Clara's hand and extending it towards her stepmum's. She shook his hand cautiously, not sure she entirely believed him.

"I thought Bob Dylan was an American," Dave mentioned. The Doctor shook his hand too, giving him a cocky grin.

"Beat the bloke to it by a couple months, not that it matters to anyone else." He then turned to Clara's gran, took off his sonic sunglasses, and bent down to kiss the back of her hand. "…and you must be the birthday girl."

"Oooh, I like this one," she blushed. "My granddaughter knows how to pick them."

"He's brilliant but not… looking his best," Clara frowned. "I told him to change, but he apparently didn't listen."

"Just another notch in your long line of interesting men," her stepmum quipped. She sipped her tea smugly, enjoying the fact that it appeared that _her_ daughter wasn't the one dating a hobo.

"He is very nice, Linda, now please… he was supposed to be a surprise, but the idiot bungled it," Clara said, trying to not seethe.

"I thought you just said he's brilliant," Dave pointed out.

"It's really difficult to operate on two completely opposite ends of the spectrum simultaneously, but for Clara I'll do anything," the Doctor said. He clapped his hands together and began to wring them. "Um… Clara?"

"Yes?"

"What do I do next?"

She excused herself and dragged him back to the bathroom, hitting the latch to lock it again. "Are you completely insane?!"

"I don't know just… how do I talk to them without telling off the smug one and not saying the wrong thing in front of your father-one?"

"You didn't seem to have a problem with talking to them while you broke in here stark naked at Christmas…" She paused, connecting dots that she forgot were related. "How did you get in here anyhow? I didn't hear the TARDIS land."

"Stealth feature; I modified it and parked it in your bedroom to show you, but I sort of parked it in the wall and…" His hands were talking nearly as much as his mouth was, completely frustrated with the situation. "Should I leave?"

"No, they've already seen you, so you're staying for at least a little while longer. Now just get out there and lie long enough so I can cut the cake and we can get things over with."

"…but the smug one…"

"I don't know how to deal with her either, now let's go." Clara exited the bathroom, allowing the Doctor to follow via his own volition, and went back to her family. "Alright, I think I'll go get that cake cut. One sec." She then ducked into the kitchen, now alone and letting the panic show on her face.

' _What am I going to do?!_ ' she thought as she plucked the molten candles from the cake's surface. She had just put it down and began pouring tea when the Doctor had barged in, making a big mess of everything. ' _Now all they're going to do is drill me about who he is and where he comes from and what he does and I can't even keep him from murdering Linda_.' She stopped and nodded to herself before throwing the candles away and taking the cake knife from the drawer. ' _Murdering Linda wouldn't be all that bad… though…_ '

"Clara?" The woman jumped and nearly dropped the knife, turning to see her father standing next to her. "Sweetie, are you alright?"

"Yeah, thanks Dad, never better," she lied. "Why aren't you with everyone else?"

"…because I know my daughter and right now she isn't telling the whole truth." He leaned on the counter and folded his arms across his chest. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just, it didn't go as planned," she said. Now that was true honesty. "I… I wanted to break him to you slowly."

"Why, because he's my age?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "A bit older…"

"He makes you happy, yeah? I think you deserve a little happiness after what happened with Danny—he was a fine young man, but I think he'd be glad you've moved on."

"Probably." Her heart hung heavy; she hadn't gotten in her five minutes yet that day.

"Now the question is," Dave said, pushing himself off the counter and reaching for the plates, "Are you going to become a step-gran before I become a granddad proper or is all that happening in order?"

"Dad…" she moaned, rolling her eyes. He laughed and began to help her serve out cake onto five plates. They took the plates and some forks with them, returning to the sitting room only for Clara to nearly drop the cake directly onto the floor in a fit of laughter.

There, sitting between her stepmum and gran on the couch, was the Doctor. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, with Gran nearly in his lap and Linda glaring at him with the utmost scrutiny. His hands were firmly folded as he tried to press his shoulders together as tightly as he could.

Served him right for barging in on her gran's birthday.

* * *

A week later, Clara walked into the TARDIS, her gran's words still echoing in her ears. " _Be sure to bring your new boyfriend_ ," she had insisted with a wink. The younger woman didn't exactly know how to respond other than that she would before hanging up the phone.

"So have anything you want to suggest for the agenda today?" the Doctor asked over by the console. When he heard no reply, he glanced over his shoulder and saw that Clara was still standing by the door, her hand on the faux-wood of the exit. "Clara?" He walked over to stand behind her, placing his hands on her upper arms. "Clara?" She jumped, the combination of the contact and the sound of his voice snapping her back to the present.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I was just thinking about the phone call I just ended."

"Was it a good phone call?"

"Yeah, it was… sort of. Gran wants me over for tea in an hour."

"I can drop you off near there if that's what you'd like; it's not a problem," he replied. She looked up at him, her brown eyes doing the inflating thing again.

"It's not that… it's just… she made me promise to bring my 'new boyfriend'. She wants you there."

"Ah," the Doctor muttered. He let go of Clara and began to chew on his forefinger, pondering their next course of action. "Did she specifically say to bring Bob Dylan?"

"No, _you_ ; she wants me to bring _you_ so she can get to know you better," she scolded. She began to walk around the console room, finding the long shelves of books comforting. "I just told her we'd do something terribly domestic, when one of the _last_ things you do is domestic, and…"

"Who says I can't do domestic?" he scoffed. He glared up at her with an indignant pout. "I am perfectly capable at domesticity and things that entail."

"You can't sit still for more than five seconds; you constantly take apart my appliances; I've never seen you pick up after yourself; you're still wearing the same clothes that you met Gran in last week," she listed. Raising an eyebrow, she leaned against the railing and shifted her hips. "Need I go on?"

"I get your point," he grumbled. He thought for only a moment before snapping his fingers and pointing at her. "Stay right there—I've got just the thing."

* * *

Two hours later (Standard TARDIS Time) and Clara and the Doctor were strolling side-by-side through the corridor at a care home, the latter having cleaned himself up with actual trousers, a shirt, waistcoat, and his wine-red velvet jacket. He clutched a small bouquet of flowers and was fidgeting even as he was walking.

"I don't like this place," he groused. "It smells like old people and death and disinfectant."

"Gran gets around-the-clock care, so Dad doesn't have to worry about her while he's at work, some of her friends are either here or nearby, and she doesn't have to deal with Linda; I'd say it's a decent match," she replied. Clara grabbed hold of his elbow as they squished together, giving an elderly man in a scooter enough berth to pass. "You might've over-done it a little bit though."

"You wanted me to change clothes."

"I didn't say to get dressed up and pop in at the florist's," she smirked. They stopped outside a door and she fussed over him, making sure nothing was out of place. "At least you showered; your hair was getting a bit wild."

"Let's just get this over with, alright?" he frowned. Clara went and opened the door a crack, knocking on it at the same time.

"Gran? You there?"

"Come on in, dear," her grandmother called back. Clara opened the door wider and felt the Doctor's hand latch onto hers. Gran was on a couch in the sitting area of her miniaturized flat, a tea service for three already laid out. "Ah, so you _were_ able to bring Bob with you… how wonderful!"

"Bob…?" the Doctor blinked as he was dragged in.

"Yes, you remember, Rab: you used the 'Bob Dylan' joke introduction," Clara reminded him, shooting him an icy glare. "Why do you even use the line if you always forget it afterward?"

"Must've slipped my mind," he replied, trying not to return the look. He let go of her hand and presented the flowers to the woman in the easy chair. "For you, Mrs. Oswald."

"Oh, why thank you, and please, just call me Gran. You _are_ dating my granddaughter, after all."

"Gran's the boss," the Doctor agreed. He sat down across from her on the couch as Clara went to fetch a vase, helping himself to tea. "Clara said you were insistent I come along."

"I just wanted the two of you to myself without that harpy my son married lording over everything," she replied.

" _Gran!_ " Clara scolded as she came back from the kitchenette with the vase. "You keep on telling me that as long as she makes Dad happy, we should leave it at that."

"Just because my son's married to the wrong woman doesn't mean that I have to _always_ shut up about it," Gran stated. "What he needed to find was another Ellie—someone that would bring out the life in him again after being widowed so young. Your mum and I always got along, dear, and I at least wanted _that_ , not a woman with the disposition of a cactus."

"Yeah, well, can't win them all, I guess," Clara sighed, sitting down next to the Doctor. "So, how have you been? Any good gossip?"

"I'm getting it right now," she replied. Gran turned back towards the Doctor, chuckling at how he was drinking tea from the saucer. "Now, Robert Dylan, was it?"

" _Smith_ ," he said. "Robert Dylan Smith, but you can call me 'the Doctor'."

"Ooohh, _another_ doctor," Gran grinned proudly. "Doctor of what?"

"Too much and not enough, just like any normal doctor," Clara cut in. "The best way to describe Rab is that he's a… _tinkerer_."

"Forgive me if this is a bit soon Doctor, but are there any plans to make Clara _Mrs. Smith_ in the near future?" Gran asked. The Doctor choked on his tea, trying not to hit anyone as he spit out what was in his mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry—I understand if you're not on that path. Things are different now and I can't change that. You love each other and that's what counts."

"How… how can you tell…?" the Doctor coughed, mopping tea from his front and the table. Blush was beginning to creep up from underneath his collar, unknowingly giving her a tell.

"You brought me flowers and dressed nice, you were holding hands as you walked in, the way you look at one another…" She gave them a knowing smile and sipped calmly at her tea. "I know my Clara, and she was looking for a man to have a family with. You look like you can have an adventure or two even once you're settled, which is good."

" _Gran_ …" Clara hissed.

"Don't worry about it, Clara," the Doctor said. "She just wants to make sure you're happy and taken care of; am I right?"

"Right on the money," Gran nodded. "I know you avoided the question last time we met, Doctor, but I do need to know: have you ever had a family before?"

The Doctor grew quiet and inward. He placed his cup down and rested his elbows on his knees, pondering about what to say. "Once," he said, "a very long time ago. It didn't end very well."

"She got full custody then? That's too bad," Gran tutted. "I'm not here to judge, but that sort of thing is always disappointing to hear. Families torn apart like that never used to happen, even with divorce."

"Well, if we do have kids, I'll make sure they know the both of us," he said softly. It was something he hadn't thought of until then, meaning a whole new realm of possibilities now flooded into his head. He sat up straight and held one of Clara's hand in his, the feel of her skin against his calming his now-nervous hearts. She was receptive, and the mental signals that she was broadcasting let him know that she would go through with such a thing, because he made her want to live. "Every time I'm with Clara, I make sure to enjoy every moment, so don't worry. She's my family now."

"I'm very glad to hear that," Gran beamed. "Very glad indeed."


End file.
